Read My Mind
by A Beautiful Irony
Summary: Night and day, and the people they pretend to be in both. The fact of the matter is, when they're together, the masks slip. Batman, Catwoman, Bruce, Selina - when they're together, it's always the same. First installment of a line of Bat/Cat ficlets based on songs.


Read My Mind

Line: "A subtle kiss that no one sees"

Song: Read My Mind by The Killers

They stand together in the shadows of a looming gargoyle, hidden from the world beneath its outstretched wing. There is no one around. Even the incessant wailing of the Gotham sirens has quieted.

The night is moonless. They can barely see each other as he presses her gently against the stonework, one hand at her waist, the other protecting the back of her head from the rough masonry. She wraps her arms around his neck, telegraphing her intent, giving him the choice. He reciprocates, leaning forward to brush his lips against hers, back and forth, barely touching. He breathes her name. Their eyes close.

The softness of this embrace, the quiet passions running between them are familiar and altogether precious.

Simultaneously, they close the infinitesimal distance, pressing together, drinking one another in. He pushes her cowl back. His is already on the floor.

Freed, her dark hair ruffles in the warm, early morning air. Her tongue traces the shape of his lips. He growls in the back of his throat, holding her closer, and she lets out a soft sigh, arching her back. He strokes her neck, exhaling against her skin. Then his mouth is on hers again, reveling in the feel, the intoxicating taste of her. She twines her fingers in his hair, clutching him close, warm and strong against her before loosening her grip. They break apart.

For a long time, the two figures simply look at one another, savoring, committing to memory. As the Gotham City skyline lightens with the first rays of dawn, their embrace is silhouetted in gold and soft shadow, their eyes slowly revealing their colors. He stares into her brilliant green as she watches his own icy blue, her lips parting. He rests their foreheads together for one moment, inhaling slowly. Then they are both gone, disappeared like shadows, the last vestiges of night yielding to the rosy break of dawn.

Wayne Tower's 'executive entertaining' floors contain no less than five opulent ballrooms, the third of which is currently hosting the annual Executives' Gala. It is high noon, and yellow light floods into the room through floor-to-ceiling glass windows, bouncing off the black marble floor to slide across the creamy inner walls. Gold filigree runs around the edges of the room and curls out from the corners.

Bruce Wayne, eccentric billionaire, stares at his creation, a brilliant smile covering the dull hatred he feels for this waste of time and depressingly finite resources. He should be arranging the next Wayne Foundation grant, or authorizing the release of more funds for the Social Workers' Progress Initiative. Hell, he should be poring over the case files of the recent string of murders in the Carther area, not screwing around, entertaining bored socialites and corrupt company executives.

He swallows a derisive scoff.

Add that to the list: purging corrupt company executives from Wayne Enterprises. Again.

But instead, he continues to waltz clumsily about the ballroom, smiling and talking shop with these... People. He hears the elevator ding over the din of talking and music. Whoever just arrived, they're late.

He is beginning to contemplate spilling his drink on the weasel-faced embezzler from 50th floor Accounting when a too-familiar step sounds to his left. The smile cracks, slips from his face as he turns to look at her, at this woman who should not be here.

"Miss Kyle," he says, taking her hand and lifting it to his lips. He does not need to feign the current that runs through him as he does so.

"Hello, Bruce," she replies, her expression pleasant. She does not pull her hand away, but something in her eyes sets off an alarm. He can sense it, an air of some hidden emotion roiling just beneath the surface. Bruce's eyebrows knit together.

"Excuse me," he says to the small crowd surrounding them, stepping out of the circle. He touches her shoulder, leading them away from their curious and now disgruntled onlookers.

"What are you..." he tries, then shakes his head. "Never mind. Are you alright?" She sighs, shrugging.

"Just… wishing we were someplace else." His look says he agrees.

"It's good to see you," he offers, smiling crookedly. He doesn't have to feign that either.

"It's good to see you too, Bruce." An answering smile flickers across her lips and disappears. Her short, dark hair is slicked back, stylish, a few subtle strands falling artistically out of place. He just manages to stop himself from running his hands through it, opting instead to adjust his tie.

He does not know what to say to her. There is nothing important that can be said in this room, with these people.

"O wanted me to give you something," she murmurs, ending the dilemma for him. "Here."

Smirking, she removes a small white envelope from her silk clutch and hands it to him. Bruce takes it from her, flipping it over. The stationary is heavy, embossed with a faint calligraphic K on its front. If it wasn't for the subtle feel of a flash drive's edges beneath the paper, he might almost imagine it an invitation to some exclusive party.

But it isn't. It's business.

"Thank you," he says, wishing there was something more he could say, more he could give her. Their conversation is so limited by the prying eyes and listening ears all around. They seem to have run out of banter recently. There isn't anything light or meaningless left to talk about. It's all too important, too close to the vest – it doesn't belong in a place like this. She sees his expression and her lips lose their quirk of amusement.

"Of course," she hums. He takes a breath.

"Selina—." Just then, a cacophony erupts at the other end of the room.

The live entertainment for the afternoon has evidently arrived, loudly and with much fanfare. Some band or dance crew, Bruce can't remember. The collective attention of the ballroom's occupants shifts to the sudden commotion by the elevators. He knows Selina will take this opportunity to make her escape.

"Wait," he says, grabbing her arm as she turns from him. "I—!"

"Goodbye, Bruce," she whispers, lifting onto her toes and brushing her lips against his as she passes away from him and into the crush of people.

The elevator dings, barely audible over the raucous crowd. His lips tingle, the loss of her touch almost painful. He wants so much more.

But she is already gone, and they both know he cannot follow her. He is left standing there, alone in the middle of the ballroom as four hundred people surge endlessly around him.


End file.
